


wolfgang

by handsandknees



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Anxiety, Dogs, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Kissing, Loneliness, M/M, Meet-Cute, Phil likes dogs and Dan that's kind of it, Pianist Dan Howell, Slow Burn, Smut, So much fluff I swear, not really but kind of, songfic if u squint, they both go to uni in london
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handsandknees/pseuds/handsandknees
Summary: Dan's fingers itch for more than ivory. Phil's are willing to scratch.





	1. Breaking the Ice

**Author's Note:**

> VERY loosely based off of say something loving by the xx, 10/10 recommend. also inspired by dogs bc i just really love dogs

They’re both horrifically late. That’s how they meet. 

Dan, in his black running shoes, feet padding softly against the bricks; Phil, in his white Converse, scuffing along with his hands full of leashes. 

And really, neither of them are to blame.

It’s not Dan’s fault that his bag weighs nearly 45 kilos, or that his legs always seem to carry him into unfortunate disasters. 

Just as well, it’s not Phil’s fault that the _9_ dogs on his hold are each individually large enough to drag him halfway across town.

Actually, the blame is pretty evenly distributed.

They might argue on that point in the future.

-

Dan had slept well past his alarm, his hair a nest of curly wisps as he darted back and forth across his flat. It was a mystery how each of his textbooks had managed to end up in a different room, his bag growing heftier with the location of every one.

He did a subpar job of tidying his appearance - something that he would soon regret - and only a slightly better job of brushing his teeth. If he forgets to turn on the coffee maker, it’s really not that big of a deal. Except it is. And now he’s going to be _properly_ late, because anyone who’s said Musical Composition is tolerable without at least 95 milligrams of caffeine in their system is a bullshit liar. 

With a stoic outlook on the day and his bed head contained by a rather obnoxiously minty green beanie, Dan tugs on what he likes to call his “Dementor” jacket before hauling his bag over a single broad shoulder. (A feat, truly.) 

While exercise is not his strong suit, Dan commends himself for making it down all three flights of stairs and to the door without a single fumble. If you look at it from an optimist’s perspective, he’s kind of earned the 190 calorie latte he gets at Starbucks. 

However, Dan is not an optimist, and he frowns disappointedly at the mess of coffee and steamed milk that now resides on the tile floor of the café. He guesses that this is a glass-completely-empty kind of day. 

Feeling a bit dejected, Dan continues his trek, headphones in with the relaxing voice of Oliver Sim lulling him back into sanity while he mourns the death of his Toffee Nut Latte.

That is...until he slips on a small patch of ice. His bag, all 45 kilos of it, loses friction on the polyester of his jacket and slides down his arm, simultaneously dragging him down with it. This results in a literal train wreck of dog paws and white Converse, and _oh_. 

Now Dan is staring up at what can only be described as a ray of sunshine epitomized. He now regrets leaving his sunglasses at home. 

“Baxter! Perrywinkle! Get back here,” the sun ray shouts, his legs intertwined with leashes and wagging tails.

Dan, smooth as he is, scrambles to get up and nearly slips _again_ in a puddle of slush left over from last night’s flurries. The sun ray somehow manages to juggle the other 7 seven leashes in one hand just quick enough to catch Dan’s arm.

“Careful! Gosh, it is just not our day,” he laughs, flicking his hair from his forehead, still managing to stay calm and cheery even as the two escaped dogs trot down the sidewalk.

“Should you- I mean- Those dogs? Should I catch them for you?,” Dan asks smartly, tugging his beanie over his ears to hide the nervous flush that has, no doubt, begun to spread. 

The sun ray is about to answer, but a loud screech of tires can be heard up the street. They both flick their attention toward the noise and Dan’s heart nearly stops. His long and clumsy legs, the ones that got them both into this mess in the first place, spring into action and carry him toward the commotion. 

“Little brats,” Dan mutters, shaking his head at the dogs who have wandered out into the street. He’ll be damned if he lets either of them get hurt because of his own incoordination. 

With deft fingers, he swoops down and grabs both of their leashes, effectively pulling them out of the way of the line of cars that have accumulated in a mere 10 seconds.

Breathless, and a little sweat damp despite the ruthless January cold, Dan makes his way back over to the sun ray with a semi-apologetic, semi-embarrassed smile. 

“I’m….so sorry. Letting me out of the house is like teaching a damn giraffe to ice skate,” Dan laughs through his words, rubbing at the back of his neck.

That has the sun ray laughing as well, his smile seeming to light up the dreary grey-ness that is London. 

“It’s fine, really. They’re good dogs, just a bit excitable. Thank you for rescuing them,” he tries to hold a hand out for Dan to shake, but then realizes he’s a bit too preoccupied, “I’m Phil, by the way. I’d _shake_ your hand but….”

Just as he’s saying it, as if on cue, the enormous Great Dane sitting directly in front of him lifts up his paw for Dan to take. 

If the mere sight of Phil weren’t enough to brighten his day, this definitely sealed the deal. 

He takes the dog’s monstrous paw, which just so happens to be the same size as his own hand, and shakes it with a beaming smile. His heart aches a little. 

“Thanks Yuma,” Phil speaks fondly, looking at the pair with something that he can’t place. Dan thinks he can feel the warmth of it radiating off of him and seeping deep into his bones, wiggling it’s way into the marrow and making itself a home there. Suddenly his wasted drink seems much less important, as if Phil has somehow managed to take it’s place. 

“Yuma, is that-”

“Japanese, yes. I’m a bit of a fanatic.” Dan has an exhausting urge to roll his eyes, but he’s worried the gesture may come across as rude rather than endearing, so he resists. “Am I going to get your name as well, or should I just call you the Dog Catcher.”

It’s a lame joke, but Dan laughs anyway because Phil is adorable and wow, he’s got such blue eyes, and-

 **Shit**.

It hits him in a wave, his chest tightening and hands clamming up. 

He is still hideously late for his lecture. It’s probably a fourth over by now, and sure his professor likes him, but the likelihood of her letting Dan in after he’s already missed so much is slim to none. The thought has him worrying his lip between his teeth, eyes focusing on a crack in the bricks that he hadn’t noticed before. 

“Are you alright?,” Phil asks, head tilting and eye brows furrowing in either worry or confusion, Dan can’t tell. 

“Oh! Yeah- yes. I’m...I’m fine I just realized I’ve kinda missed my whole lecture for today..,” Dan frowns and tries to distract himself from the rabid worry that slides down his brain stem and into his chest cavity, kneeling to pet the dogs he’d forgotten were still hooked to the leashes around his wrists. They lap lovingly at his face and he can feel the beginnings of a smile creeping up on him.

Phil kneels as well, the other pups crowding around him for attention while he speaks in a voice that sounds kind of like the honey Dan put in his tea last night. 

“Well, no use in walking all the way to campus now. If you’re not busy you could help me with these guys! I will reward you…..what’s better than handsomely?”

“Uhh...liberally? Lavishly? Prolifically?”

“Ennnglish major?,” Phil tries, eyes squinting and a sneaky grin making itself known on his warm features. 

“Music, actually. But I’m taking a couple English courses, in case the initial plan falls out.”

“Ahhhh, a musician. Oh, to be talented. We can’t all be the best at everything, though.”

Dan can tell he’s trying to turn the conversation away from his inceptive offer, he can tell by the little crease between his brows. He wants to rub it away.

Dan smiles instead, moving to stand and pick his, now damp, bag back up. “You’re plenty talented, I can tell. You seem to have a way with animals, so I guess me helping you out is more of a courtesy for nearly breaking both your shins.”

Phil seems delighted at the accepted offer, and he stands as well. 

Their shoulders brush when Phil walks by him, wordlessly looking over his shoulder as if he knows Dan will follow.

Dan does. 

“I should probably let you know, I plan to pay you strictly in pastries,” Phil says, stopping to look Dan directly in the eyes.

It’s a little unsettling. Dan knows it shouldn’t be, he knows Phil is joking. His lack of social interaction is finally coming to bite him in the ass.

He offers a shy smile, shaking his head. “That’s more than fine. Will there be danishes?”

They continue walking, the dogs seeming to have calmed down considerably. 

“There will be danishes, yes.”

“Do you make pastries in bulk to feed your 4 million dogs?” 

Phil laughs. Phil’s laugh is contagious. It feels good to laugh, Dan thinks.

“Oh, no, no. I walk a bunch of dogs from my apartment building to make a little extra money. I mean, the money is only one of the benefits. Who wouldn’t want to be surrounded by dogs all morning?”

“A _crazy_ person,” Dan insists earnestly, “So Yuma is yours then?”

“That’s right,” Phil beams. He looks like a proud parent. “Do you have any pets?”

“Sadly, no. I’m always worried I won’t be a very good care taker. Another life is a **lot** of responsibility.” 

“It’s also very rewarding, y’know,” Phil urges, turning to walk down the block. 

“Hm, you’re right about that,” Dan smiles down at the bricks, only then taking in his surroundings. “Wait, do you live on this street?”

“Mhm! I live just there. With my three flatmates.” He doesn’t appear too enthused about the last part, eyes seeming to roll a bit. 

“Sounds like a lot of fun, I kinda live on my own. Right here actually,” Dan says, pointing to the taller building just next to the one Phil has stopped in front of. 

“Well, Dog Catcher, it appears we are neighbours,” Phil smiles mischievously, fishing his keys from his pocket with practiced skill. 

“Dan.”

“Dan.” 

Dan nods. “Yes, that’s my name.”

They exchange prolonged smiles, Phil glancing up at the door to his building before reaching to carefully take the two leashes from Dan.

“Well, _Dan_ , I’m afraid I was supposed to have the beagle in 12A home twenty minutes ago. Maybe I’ll bump into you sometime.” Phil bumps their shoulders together for added effect. 

Dan laughs again, and the warmth in his bones seems to stir. 

“Maybe, yeah. Have a good day, Phil.”

He tries not to sound too sad about their departure. 

“You too, Dog Catcher!,” Phil calls over his shoulder as he walks up the steps. 

“It’s Dan!”

“Dog Catcher!”

And he disappears into the building. 

Dan’s heart aches again and his shoulder seems to tingle as he walks back to his own flat. 

When he gets inside, he toes off his trainers and throws his assaulting beanie onto the floor before promptly flopping face first into the sofa. 

He thinks maybe he should nap, or work on the piece he started working on last night, or maybe call up the local shelter because having an actual dog would make it much easier to run into Phil again.

Well, hopefully not _literally run_ into him, because Dan may break something next time. But the idea is there.

He decides to wait until tomorrow. Or maybe next week. 

He also decides he really needs to see Phil again soon, even if his mouth seems to want to short circuit in his presence. 

Nonetheless, he drags the blanket from the back of the sofa onto his body in a desperate attempt to trap the heat in his bones forever. 

He wakes up cold, chin smeared with drool.

Yeah, he needs to see Phil again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is potentially going to simultaneously be the best and longest thing i've ever written so buckle up your seatbelts. i will try to update as often as possible, thanks a mill.


	2. Melting The Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my dearest apologies for taking so long, I hate writer's block (-':

The next morning Dan wakes up on time. His stomach grumbles loudly as he sits out on the balcony, the recent snow having dried up and left the air cool and crisp. The steam that rises off of his coffee swirls into perfect little wisps and provides him with something to focus on rather than the looming need for sustenance. 

His stomach lets out another unflattering noise and he sighs loudly, tugging his blanket tight around his shoulders while he wanders back inside in search for food. 

He checks the pantry and the fridge with little success, finding only a half box of cereal and no milk. _Useful_ , he thinks grumpily, slumping against the counter and debating whether or not it’s worth it to walk all the way down the block to Starbucks for a mediocre croissant. It’s not, he decides. 

In the face of hunger, Dan doesn’t want a croissant. Not really. His stomach does another flip and he clutches it, whining pitifully and flopping down on the tile of the floor with an unimpressive thump.

“Something sweet,” he muses to no one in particular, resting his chin in his hand with another sigh. _A danish, maybe_. 

“A danish!”

With less than nimble feet, he springs up and abandons his blanket in favor of rushing to his bedroom. 

“Jesus..I’m useless,” it comes out as a mumble, Dan’s fingers tapping against his chin while he observes the mound of clean clothes he forgot to put away some three days ago. It would be impressive, his bountiful procrastination, if it weren’t for the stress of picking out a decent outfit.

He will not have a repeat of looking like a proper homeless man in front of what may be the most attractive specimen Dan has ever seen. Aside from Evan Peters because, really. No one trumps Evan in Dan’s heart. 

He settles on the new shirt he bought last week, solely because it’s still in it’s packaging and the only thing he can find that isn’t wrinkled. 

Padding over to the mirror, Dan pulls the shirt down over his head, the long grey sleeves a pleasant contrast to the Arctic that is his bedroom. And whether or not Phil gets the wrong idea from the bold ‘ **SEXUAL FANTASIES** ’ printed down the side in deep red font is to be determined, Dan supposes. 

The ripped knees in his jeans turn out to be a horrible decision. He’s finally made it outside, predictably clad in all black save for his shirt, and in decidedly more traction-friendly shoes. However, the cold is unforgiving on his bare knees and they turn a gross shade of pink. 

Leave it to Dan to get self conscious about _knees_ for Christ’s sake.

Just as Dan is about to give himself a proper face palm, pink knees and careful feet walking up the steps to Phil’s apartment building, he collides with an opening door and flurry of black hair. It’s just his luck, really. 

“Aaahh! I’m so sorry! Are you alright? I hope I didn’t- Oh! Dan?,” Phil’s words are rushed and frantic until his eyes lock with Dan’s, bashful smiles blooming on their faces.

“Hi, Phil,” he offers, with possibly too much enthusiasm. 

“I thought I may run into you,” Phil chirps, going to reach into the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Well, we do live virtually right next to each other.” 

“Valid point. But, before I forget, I have something for you.” Phil tugs a small brown box from his bag, the top sealed shut with, of course, a dog sticker. “For you, Dog Catcher,” he adds. He smiles a sneaky smile, one that looks like it’s just for Dan, and _boy_ is that a concept. 

Dan laughs, endeared, his eyes lighting up while he opens the box to reveal four perfectly crafted danishes. 

He wastes no time in grabbing one, taking what may be the biggest bite in human existence. The noise he makes at the taste is nothing short of pornographic. 

Dan thinks he may see Phil flush. It’s truly a jumble of mixed emotions.

“That good, huh?,” Phil says, voice hopeful and expression proud.

“You have no bloody idea. Honestly. Screw uni, you should just become a baker.”

“That’s where I’m headed now, actually. Care to walk with me?”

Dan pauses. 

“Did you give me danishes just to invite me to a bakery? You’re a strange man, Phil.”

They both laugh, Phil shaking his head and beginning to walk down the block. Dan follows. He seems to do that a lot where Phil is concerned.

“Sadly, I meant uni. I’ve got a 10:30 lecture and then I’ll probably go do coursework at Starbucks or something.”

Dan doesn’t want to ask. Afterall, he has his own coursework to finish before his evening class at 8:00, so really he should get that done. 

He’s also terrified. He’s terrified of even speaking to Phil, let alone asking to join him for coffee. Not to mention they’ve only met once before and it wouldn’t be his place to-

“Dan? You zoned out again,” Phil says easily. He hadn’t noticed that they’d stopped walking, or that Phil was now facing him with his blue, blue, _blue_ eyes focused directly on him, which is nothing short of disorienting. 

“I’m sorry,” Dan tries to smile past the embarrassment, “I do that quite a lot.”

“You do.” A pause. “It’s fine if you’re busy, though. We can reschedule!”

“Busy? I have literally nothing planned for the next 11 hours, 100% free, cleared schedule,” Dan rushes, tugging his sleeves down over his hands to escape the cold. 

“Perfect! So we’ll meet at Starbucks aaaatttt, say, 12:30?”

“Of course. I’ll be the one in white,” he jokes with a smile, tugging at the fabric of his shirt for emphasis. (He definitely does not internally cringe 2 seconds after.)

Phil’s laugh burns holes in his eardrums, it’s warm and genuine and much better than any of the songs Dan’s composed over the years.

“Well my blushing bride, I’ll see you there,” Phil teases back, hoisting the strap of his bag up his shoulder.

“Have a good lecture, Phil,” Dan says once they’ve reached campus. He wants to hug him, the urge turns and twists and makes his arms itch. Maybe it’s the sun rays Phil’s left there in his bones.

“Don’t eat all of those in one place,” he gestures to the box in Dan’s hands, grinning wide and turning on his heel to cross the street, “Bye, Dan!”

Dan gives a small wave, “Yeah, see ya!”

Once Phil is well across the street, Dan starts back home, an embarrassingly dopey smile stuck to his face. He laughs at the irony of it all.

He’d been so in his own head about asking Phil out for coffee, that he’d missed Phil asking _him_ out for coffee. AND, they were already making wedding jokes. What a day. 

Back at his flat, Dan watches a few Yuri!!! On Ice episodes in anxious anticipation. And then it’s noon. 

He stares at the time on his phone for a long minute. 

_It’s a ten minute walk to Starbucks from here…_ , he thinks.

_He said twelve-thirty._

_Should I be early?_

_Late?_

_Perfectly on time? Which is weirder?_

_Fuck._

Without a doubt, he was overthinking this. Maybe he should just stay there, let his body roll up like a sleeping bag and tuck itself away into the nooks and crannies of his thoughts. Afterall, that’s really the only familiar place he has left. 

Familiarity is ivory keys and take-out for one. Familiarity is watching The Cat Returns for the umpteenth time because there isn’t anyone to complain about it. Familiarity is painful, and it’s lonely.

Even the creases in his bedsheets from last night’s sleep seem closer to him than any person ever has.

Being Dan is almost like living in a shell. But not a turtle’s shell, one that you felt attached and close to, but a hermit crab’s shell. Replaceable. Decorative. Dan could always just move on, maybe escape to America like his old best friend had. Washington seemed nice, like an off-brand version of England. 

Going into uni he’d moved out of his family’s two-story, eight bedroom house and into his own equally too-large flat. Money was never really an issue, and his mother insisted that he get a two bedroom flat so that the family could visit every once in awhile. He was now in his third year of university and his family had yet to visit. That came as no surprise. There was **always** going to be another gala, or island, or party to visit, and Dan would **always** be there, right?

Right?

 _Right_ , he thinks sarcastically to himself, willing himself out of the coffin of his brain and lifting his phone to read the time. 

12:23

He figures it’s a safe time. Just barely late. _Good compromise_ , he compliments.

 

After another monstrous journey down the mountain of stairs, he makes it outside, again with pink knees. Dan’s feet seem to float across the ground rather than thud tragically like they usually do, and before he even has time to think about it, the weird and mermaid-esque logo is coming into view. 

Everything seems very important in the moment. The cold metal of the door handle burning his hand, the slight glare of an overcast sky on the window that almost blocks his view of Phil already slumped over several textbooks, the way his laptop looks dangerously close to falling on the floor. Dan thinks for a moment, the comforting Starbucks logo hovering above his head, that maybe this could become familiar.

Thoughts and inhibitions abandoned, Dan tugs the door open and forces himself forward (this nearly results in him trampling a young woman, who rudely hisses something about manners before he even has the chance to apologize). 

Thoughts and inhibitions regained, Dan straightens his jacket and approaches Phil’s table. The back of his yellow jumper looks soft and he has a few flyaway hairs that wave a little hello to Dan. It’s very hard not to be overly fond.

“I can feel you behind me Louise. No, he is not here yet, and no I don’t want _another_ refill. Feels like I’m made out of caffeine at this point,” Phil mutters, running lanky fingers through already tousled hair.

“You’ve been expecting me, then?, “ Dan can’t fight the bemused laugh that topples past his lips.

Phil visibly stiffens and chances a small peek over his shoulder. His lips twist up in this sort of half bashful, half giddy smile and **no**. That is just so unfair. 

“I have, maybe,” he tries, turning in his chair to gesture to the seat next to him, “Sorry about that, my mate Louise sort of has a thing for hovering over me like a mother bear. She works here, actually.” 

Dan takes the seat gratefully, their ankles brushing as he tucks his legs under the table.

“Sounds like a rather good mate-”

“Damn, right,” comes a rather Northern-sounding voice from behind them.

Phil groans. 

“Louise, you’ve checked up on me nearly a dozen times today, please, just-”

“C’mon, chummie! _Introduce me_ ,” she says, teeth gritting through a smile. 

Phil simply places his hand on Dan’s shoulder with what seems like quite a pained expression. His eyes mimic an apology and Dan shrugs in reply. 

“Daniel, this is my very best friend Louise,” he pauses, leaning in close to whisper, _”I nearly said mother, she would have **killed** me.”_

Dan barks out a laugh, hand flying over his mouth and face dangerously close to resting on Phil’s shoulder. 

“Don’t tell secrets, Phillip!,” Louise screeches, swatting at his arm in good-nature.

“Fiine, fine. Louise this is my very handy dog-catching neighbor, Dan. He may like my baking skills even more than you, I dare say.”

“Oh, I absolutely do,” Dan adds, nodding and beaming up at the woman.

Phil turns his head back and forth to smile at both of them, as if simultaneously. All the while Louise stares at Dan, eyes studying and speculating, and then they’re all sort of caught in this weird smile-stare-triangle and Dan is _not_ sweating in negative 2 degree weather. 

“But have you tried the raspberry danishes?! I keep insisting he could sell the bloody things, but humble little Phillip. Could never take money from anyone,” Louis sighs fondly, patting Phil’s head a couple times. The sigh of relief that Dan lets out is positively audible. 

“Okay! Well, let mummy Louise know if you boys need anything, I’ve got to get back to work.” With a final wave, Louise turns on her heel and resumes her task of cleaning up the espresso machines, a soft hum trailing behind her as she goes. 

“Well, she’s…”

“Abrasive?”

“I was going to say lovely, Phil…”

“Yes! Yes, of course, lovely. Louise is very lovely,” he snickers, turning back to face the table and propping an elbow up on it’s surface.

“You’ve been here a while then?,” Dan questions, fiddling with the loose thread on the edge of his jacket.

Phil laughs quietly, turning to close the open textbook in front of him. “Maybe an hour? You’d be surprised at what you can accomplish with 4 cups of coffee in your system.”

“I actually know what you mean, all too well in fact.” 

With sore finger tips, Dan brushes some hair off of his forehead. 

“Coursework is killing you too then.” He doesn’t smile with his lips, but with his eyes instead and there they are again; _blueblueblue_.

Dan sighs on a laugh, resting his chin in his palm with a sort of sleepy grin. 

“You could say that, yeah. I’ve got my final project for Music Comp. due at the end of the month and I’ve yet to even pull out the sheet music I need to start it.”

Phil turns to face him again and his jean clad knees brush against Dan’s own, “Writer’s block or exhaustion?”

“A bit of both, to be completely honest.”

Turning momentarily to his laptop, Phil’s fingers type away at the keyboard and Dan watches whilst also trying not to be so utterly _fond_. Another daring feat.

“They say a change in environment is good for inspiration,” he pipes up a moment later.

“Last time I tried that I was nearly ran down by a car while trying to rescue run-away dogs.” They exchange warm grins; Dan’s bones tickle again.

“I’ve some back at my flat,” Phil says, tucking his pencil behind his ear so he can take a sip of his near empty coffee cup.

“Some…?”

“Raspberry danishes,” Phil informs.

They stare at each other for maybe a second longer than what’s considered normal, Dan playing with the zipper of his jacket, and suddenly Phil is tucking the last of his books neatly into his bag. 

Rubbing at pink knees, Dan smiles amiably and tucks his hands into his pockets. 

“So back to yours then.”

“Of course, where else would you get Phillip’s World Famous Raspberry Danishes? I don’t think another change in environment would kill you either, Daniel,” he teases.

He’s already got all of his things packed away, bag slung over his shoulder with ease and Dan stands carefully. 

(He knocks his knee against the corner of the table anyway.)

“Lead the way then.”

“What, has the caffeine finally caught up with you and you suddenly can’t remember where we live?”

Dan doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, but the flush that immediately burns on his cheeks is enough to make Phil grin anyway. 

“I’m afraid so, it’s all Louise’s fault too.”

“What’s my fault,” Louise simpers from behind the counter, arms crossed with an accusatory lift to her eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing. We’ll be going now, Louise! Love you!,” Phil calls from over his shoulder, ushering Dan toward the door with warm hands on his shoulder. 

He whispers a little mantra of _”go go go go”_ into Dan’s ear and they giggle while they rush out onto the freezing London walkway.

“Idiot,” Louise mumbles with a discreet smile, eyes following them while they bump shoulders and laugh their way down the block until they’re out of sight. 

“Lovely couple,” muses an older woman who Louise hadn’t noticed behind the counter. 

“They are, aren’t they?,” she replies, taking the woman’s order and making a mental note to text Phil after her shift. 

Warmth settles into the skeleton of London.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow/tweet me if you'd like !! @foreheadcurl on twitter


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